Chapter 8
Blue's Intuition
Baby Blue Bears' sensitivity to the magical blooms intensifies. He leads Amy to a hidden grove, where the flowers pulse with a potent, unearthly light.
Baby Blue Bears was vibrating. Not just his usual, "OMG, a leaf just fell, alert the village!" vibrating, but a deep, resonant hum that seemed to come from his very bones. He was plastered to my face, his little sandpaper tongue trying to lick my nose clean, which, frankly, was a weirdly intimate gesture for a dog I was usually trying to stuff into a sparkly carrier bag. Russo Baby Bears, meanwhile, was doing his best impression of a tiny, furry tornado, spinning in circles and yipping at nothing in particular, probably convinced he was chasing a rogue dust bunny with sinister intentions.
"Alright, alright, settle down, you two," I mumbled, trying to disentangle myself from Baby Blue Bears' enthusiastic affection. "What's gotten into you? Did someone leave a dropped cookie somewhere?"
Baby Blue Bears let out a series of high-pitched barks, a frantic symphony of urgency. He wriggled free and then, instead of doing his usual dash for the nearest sunbeam or an unattended slipper, he trotted towards the edge of the Whispering Woods, pausing to look back at me expectantly. Russo Baby Bears, sensing the shift in his brother’s usual chaos, ceased his tornado impersonation and trotted obediently to Baby Blue Bears’ side, his tail giving a tentative, hopeful wag.
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